


I Have Died Everyday For You

by forbearnan (m_feys)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with an Ambiguous Ending, Episode: s05e12 The Diamond of the Day, M/M, Magic Revealed, One Shot, Temporary Character Death, i was gonna say happy ending but im not sure if it counts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-06 12:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_feys/pseuds/forbearnan
Summary: Merlin has lost his magic. He no longer has the power to protect Arthur.Yet, he will still follow him into danger. And he will give his life for him.As he has always done.





	I Have Died Everyday For You

**Author's Note:**

> This au diverges from canon at exactly the moment Merlin decides he's got to leave Arthur to return his magic. Instead, he goes with him to the battle of Camlann, powerless.
> 
> Please note, I'm considering Dragon-speak to be different from other magic so Merlin can still do that in this. Also, the graphic depictions of violence warning on this should be considered, there's some gore.

Merlin had fought, tooth and nail, for him to stay away from this fight. Moreso than any before. But just as always, he had come with Arthur, followed him into danger, at his side as he should be. 

Over the years, even as Merlin’s optimism waned, his steadfast bravery never wavered. Still, this time, he seemed to despair far more than with any previous struggle, to doubt their odds more than any test of their lives before.

The battle is messy. There's dragon fire raining down upon them and too many enemies to count, it's easy to see they're outnumbered. And that wasn’t even factoring in the troops Camelot’s armies had lost to a flank that came through an unseen pass in the cliffs. It was all grim, which is to say, Merlin had been right once again.

As the battle rages, a voice booms through the valley. Arthur can not see from where it comes. But it is deep and powerful as the earth as it calls out in a language Arthur can not understand. He balks at the noise, as do the men around him. Expecting it to be their doom. Instead, for a moment, the death and bloodshed wanes as the dragon simply, _flies off_.

Arthur rallies his knights with a cry then, leading them on as he cuts down several more raiders. It is not enough. It will not be enough. They are slowly being subsumed by the numbers of Morgana’s army. Still, he will go down fighting as he always knew he would.

“For Camelot!” he roars.

“For Camelot!” they echo in tandem and they will be a force to be reckoned with, even if they are to die.

Arthur surges forward to the place where their armies meet and merge, in a writhing mass fraught with death, cutting down enemies that had strayed further in as he does.

It was almost clearer, once you got deeper towards the middle. Like the calm eye of the storm as those who ache for blood on their blades rush further into battle, into the enemy; then there are those who fight only for their loyalties, who stay back, wait with bated breath, and defend.

Arthur supposes he is of the first kind, as he steps forward. This is not something he relishes, not during war and least of all when his people’s lives are at stake. But there is something so _simple_ about cutting someone down with your sword. It comes naturally to him. As if— as much as he hates them— this is what he was made for. Bloody battles.

He parries and slashes cleanly at an enemy that has flown towards him, spinning on his heel as he downs him with ease. When he turns, though, he spots a familiar face stepping from the carnage. Arthur hesitates.

The knight, decked in black armor, looks grim and out of place in the wartorn valley. He is so young. Mordred does not hesitate as he does though, drawing his sword back and making to strike before Arthur can catch up to react. The blade would pierce he side. This he knew.

However, before it can, another person— so familiar, and so out of place here— calls out his name.

“Arthur!” Comes the desperate shout and the man with no hesitance of his own, slams bodily into Arthur, knocking him aside, and taking the blow for himself as the sword slides into place into Merlin’s stomach.

Arthur freezes, stares at him in horror. No armor on him, not even chainmail, he’d come as a physician to treat the wounded, after all. He was never meant to be here in all this _death_.

Not even a sword in his hand as Merlin stands on the battlefield at Arthur’s side. _Why?_

Mordred seems just as shocked as him, but rage dawns in his eyes, all the same, and he screams, “you were meant to protect _us_, not him!” He drags the blade out remorselessly, “Emrys!” he adds furiously, like an insult.

What Mordred said, made no sense, none of it did, but Arthur does not falter this time. Instead, he takes his chance and drives Excalibur home into the traitor’s gut. He draws Mordred closer as he does so he can see into his eyes as they dim. Twisting the sword cruelly, for good measure, before he pulls it free and lets him fall.

All the fury in Arthur turns to ash as he looks to where Merlin has crumpled to the ground as well. Curling in on himself with his hands folded over the new hole in his side. Arthur falls to his knees beside him.

“What were you doing, you idiot?” he asks, but his voice wavers as the only thing he truly feels, is despair.

Merlin looks up at him, smiling weakly, “Saving you.”

“Don’t speak,” Arthur orders. He knows that talking, breathing, _anything_, only made a gut wound more excruciating. “I’m going to get you back. Okay?” he tells him like there is any hope left in the world. But there must be. He was going to get him back.

“Leave me,” Merlin pleads softly, struggling the words out.

“Not a chance,” Arthur says, dropping Excalibur and reaching down for him instead, and grabbing hold of his arm as he heaved him up and threw him over his shoulder. Merlin cries out as he does, and Arthur knows he must be in agonizing pain. Carrying him like this would not do that wound any good either but Arthur needs to move him fast if there is to be any chance at all. He grabs the sword back up before he pushes himself to his feet. He knows he'll need it.

Merlin’s cry of pain drew attention back towards them and Arthur fights off all those who challenge him, but they’re slowing him down. He works his way to the edges of the battle, bearing Merlin's weight and listening to his arduous breaths as he makes for their encampment. As soon as it's clear enough he breaks out into a run, his armor slick with blood.

And he abandons the battle, abandons his men. All for Merlin.

* * *

There are cries and shouts behind Arthur but he cannot listen to any of it. The only thing he can pay attention to, the only thing he hears, are the wheezing last breaths of his closest friend. The gurgle of blood from the wound in his abdomen with each desperate struggle for air. Merlin is all he can see.

Gwen is beside him, distantly he can hear her quiet, choked breaths. She’s trying to stay calm as she works with Gaius to attempt to save him. Old practiced hands press clean cloths to the wound to stifle the bleeding but there is _far_ too much. Arthur had carried him here himself and just from the blood on his armor, he _knows_. And none of it his own.

Here, the bravest man he ever knew was dying in his place and all Arthur could do was cradle his head in his hands, stroke the dark hair at the nape of his neck and whisper how he wasn't going to leave him. Not yet, not now when Arthur needed him most.

It should be him, it should be Arthur bleeding out right now. He had always known he should die gloriously on the battlefield, giving his life alongside others loyal to Camelot. It was what he was made for, he could always feel it in his bones. This was all wrong, wrong, wrong. This was not what _Merlin_ was meant for. Even if the man seemed to rush into danger where ever he could. Even if the man had already laid down his life for Arthur's sake dozens of times over. _He_ was meant to keep going; he was meant to _live_.

Merlin's eyelids fluttered but he could no longer seem to see Arthur, see any of them now as he was sighing silent cries. And Giaus's voice was speaking, far away and muffled as if Arthur was sinking down, down, deeper underwater.

"I'm sorry, Sire. There's nothing more I can do for him." Arthur already knew. Gaius, even so distant, sounds so mournful. Sorrowful, like he might be crying himself. Arthur cannot look at him to know. He brushes thumbs to merlin's cheeks and holds him as his breathing just, stops. 

And he's so still, and skin too cool. And yet if Arthur were to press fingers to his neck, he knows he would still feel the last resilient thumps of his heart, failing slowly into oblivion. But his eyes are shut, and maybe if not for the smell of blood and battle he could just be asleep, peaceful.

Maybe if Arthur didn't look too closely; if he didn't know too well.

Gwen collapses to her knees beside him, breaking down into shuddering sobs. And that's his _wife_ and he should be holding _her_ in his arms right now but all he can do is watch and try to make his very last look at Merlin go on forever. _This_ can't be it.

Gaius moves to take Merlin's hand in his own, head bowed. The heat of tears gathers in Arthur’s eyes and he watches with blurred vision as one falls onto Merlin's cheek. He lets out an uneven breath, shutting his eyes as he presses his forehead to Merlin's.

Then, he feels it. Amidst all the chaos and pain of the world around him. The unnatural stillness between his fingers shifts and a warm breath ghosts his lips. Arthur pulls back with a sharp jerk of motion, watching as Merlin's eyelids flutter once more and he comes back to life, still held in Arthur's grasp.

"Arthur," the man breathes, dazed, and a slight smile dawns on his lips, "you're alive," he observes gratefully.

"So are you," he says and can scarcely believe it.

Merlin blinks and his eyes dart around the tent to Gaius and Gwen’s stunned faces but Arthur still cannot tear his gaze away from Merlin's face.

Merlin’s fingers are lifting to his cheek then, playing at his skin, gentle and nimble in that way of his, “you’re crying,” he says as his work-worn hands brush away tears. And what was it Arthur had told him so long ago? No man is worth your tears. Right here and right now Arthur knows it’s not true. Never was.

Arthur catches that hand in his own and holds him in place.

“How are you alive?” He asks, staring down at him in awe, “I carried you here myself, you were— you were—”

“The battle,” Merlin cuts him off, “is it over?”

Arthur shakes his head, “we’re losing,” he answers, “we will not last to first light.”

Merlin’s mouth sets to a grim line at that and he starts to move, Arthur’s hand flies out to hold him down, looking down in horror to where he would have disturbed his ugly wound. Only to find that his skin was whole, just surrounded by blood that was already beginning to dry.

Arthur reaches out to feel the skin there, Merlin’s blood still staining his hands where it had seeped into the cracks of his fingernails. His touch was careful but the skin was undisturbed as if it had just knitted itself back together on a whim. Apparently, his blood was the only evidence left that Merlin had been dying at all.

“It’s almost like…” he starts softly.

“Magic,” Merlin supplies for him with a low, choked voice and when Arthur turns his head back to look at him his eyes are misted and he looks so _mournful_.

Arthur had intended to say, _‘a miracle,’_ because that’s everything Merlin was, Miraculous. Now, he finds he can’t speak.

“What are you saying?” Gwen asks just beside Arthur and he knows it says something he shouldn’t like that he’s been only barely aware of her during all this. But _shouldn’t_ and _is any way_ had always been Arthur’s greatest shortcoming. In this moment, it was like nothing but Merlin existed.

The man only shakes his head, mouth twisted unhappily. He sits up, this time, Arthur does not stop him. Merlin studies his hands, bloodied, calloused, and dirt-covered as they were. He swallows heavily, still with no answer.

Then, Merlin is getting to his feet and he says, with broad shoulders steady and voice certain, “we’re not going to lose. I’ll make sure of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I may add more to this as I have a bit more written, but I don't know how I want it to end yet, we'll see. For now, it's completed.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated. You can also check out my merlin [tumblr](https://forbearnan.tumblr.com/) (and reblog this there if you want)


End file.
